Xenophobia
by tloyc2016
Summary: Xenophobia - n. An unreasonable fear or hatred of foreigners or strangers or of that which is foreign or strange. (T for... disturbing content? Language, violence, Slender Man, you get the idea.)


_'The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown.' _\- H.P. Lovecraft

* * *

"Mommy! Mommy, who's that tall man?"

"What tall man, honey?"

"That man," she pointed into the trees, "there! See?"

Margaret stared into the trees for a few seconds, but – seeing nothing – said "Honey, there isn't a tall man."

"But I can _see _him!"

"Trees can be veeeerrryyy... manlike, sometimes, Lucy. Come on, it's time to go home, anyway..."

As she turned around, she could have sworn she glimpsed something moving in the trees. But only for a moment. Passing it off as a trick of the light, or maybe her imagination, she carried Lucy to the car and drove away.

* * *

_'...The only thing we have to fear is... fear itself.' - _Franklin D. Roosevelt

* * *

When Margaret went outside the next day, she saw Lucy talking to herself near the forest. "Lucy? What are you doing?" She called over to her, rather confused and worried. Lucy skipped over to her, and said "Nothing, mommy. Just a new friend."

"Huh... what's their name?"

She looked up to the sky, or maybe her imaginary friend, thinking. Then, after a few seconds, she said "Slendy!"

"Slendy? That's an odd name." Lucy shrugged. "What do they look like?"

"He's _reaaaaaal_ tall," she said, stretching her arms up into the sky, "and _reaaaaaaaaaal _thin, and _reaaaaaaaaaaal _pale, like a ghost!"

Margaret smiled. Children had great imaginations.

"And he looks a bit like a tree, too, like that man from the forest, remember, Mommy?"

Most of the time.

As she went back into the house, she briefly glanced behind her, and imagined a tall man in the trees. She shook her head, laughing, and walked inside.

* * *

_'There are very few monsters who warrant the fear we have of them.' _\- Andre Gide

* * *

It was four in the morning when Margaret was woken up rather abruptly, by a noise she never, ever wanted to hear in the middle of the night.

The sound of a door – the front door – opening.

Someone was in the house.

She didn't dare go out and look – she was, though she hated to admit it, probably not really suited to fighting off intruders. Instead she put her ear to the door, and listened.

She could barely make out someone coming up the stairs. Very quietly, and very quickly. She heard a door opening. She heard her daughter- _her daughter- _say "Slendy!" and heard her running up to something, or maybe away.

She opened the door.

She could hear Lucy talking to something. A tall, thin shadow, taller then the _doorframe, _was plainly visible from outside the room.

**"We're going on a trip, child. Would you like to see my home?"**

"_Reaaaally?!_ Where? Where?"

**"Come with me."**

"...Mommy won't like that... Can I ask her, first?"

**"No... she would never let you out at night."**

"How do you know? She might let me-"

**"Child... I know your mother well. Margaret would _never_ let you go."**

Margaret herself was torn between horror and... something else.

"...Aaaalright... promise to get me back before Mommy wakes up?"

**"Yes. Now... come with me."**

Margaret was frozen in place. She literally _couldn't_ move. And she had no idea why. She could move her neck, but that was all. She watched as the tall... _thing... _walked out with her daughter, and she saw it look at her-

_It didn't have a face._

**"Go first, child. I have something to take care of. I will meet you outside."**

"Okay..." And with that, Lucy skipped down the stairs and out of sight.

Margaret could move again.

Not that it mattered, really. The... arms... tentacles, branches, tendrils, _what were they- wrapped around her, her eyes were closing without her permission, she couldn't move, it was coming closer, **it was coming clos  
**_

* * *

_'There is no passion so contagious as that of fear.' _\- Michel de Montaigne


End file.
